Prove Me Wrong
by LadyRuebo
Summary: With the androids arriving soon, Vegeta is eager to train. Mother nature keeps imposing her own shocking will, deactivating the gravity room for days. Dr. Briefs and Bulma are onto a solution, but need...personal research. Vegeta struggles to trust, let alone allow them to intervene. Bulma is drawn closer to her alien house guest. Vegeta's POV. Slow burn. 3 year gap.


**Hey guys! Thank you for reading this fic. I hope you all enjoy it. I'm looking for feed back. Please don't hesitate to review or send me a PM. I hope to post the chapters one at a time rather than all at once to give readers a chance to process and critique. Please let me know which posting method you prefer. Thanks again!**

I much prefer the fish to the loathsome four legged creature derailing my afternoon with its clumsy climbing antics and irrational fear. Cats of Earth are so well known for their ascending abilities. Then how the hell did it get stuck in a damn power module of the gravity room? I know the lightening didn't strike him; there's still breath in him to make noise.

_Mew Mew_

Cry all you want, you little white whiskered mongrel. All I need is a good distraction to make the scorched black bullseye on the side of the gravity room bearable. Who knows how long it will take the preoccupied woman and her diddling father to fix this. This is the third time a summer storm has put their earthling genius to shame.

At least the old man's fish mind their own business, swimming aimless circles in their shallow pool. They're just like humans really, content with their little plaster rocks and greens the old man tossed in for them. 'Habitat enrichment' he calls it, like he's done some grand favor for the koi. They are glorified carp, bred for their flashy scales. Bred to be useless- utterly useless. They amuse me, yes, but the reason eludes me.

"Do you eat them?," I had asked the approaching woman.

"You mean the fish? No, dad keeps them."

"To skin them then?"

"No, weirdo!"

"Enlighten me. What then?"

"Fish can be onsidered pets too."

"Who the hell puts a fish on a leash? What does your senior do, take them out and pet them?"

"You need a leash, Vegeta," She mumbled and dropped her fruity, orange drink on the picnic table as she strolled over, "Looks like Mother Nature killed your power."

"I can see just fine. No need for you to show up, and narrate."

"I can look, just like you. Besides, I wanted to see if Scratch was alright."

"The old man should come _before the body starts to stink._"

"Don't you dare say that to him. My daddy loves that cat. I mean it."

"What ever woman. It's no concern of mine."

"Anyway, the fish are a hobby," She explained.

"Hobby?"

"You know like, some people collect things, or make crafts, like paintings. It's an activity you enjoy and take personal pleasure in."

"A distraction from reality."

"Uh, sure."

I nodded just to hear silence at last. Woman, let me enjoy the breeze on me neck, without your voice in my ears. Making eye contact will just encourage you. Ignoring you is the best strategy.

"So, do you have a hobby, or had one—maybe? Dad should be out any minute with the scissor lift."

"When I was a boy, I used to count things—"

"Oh, okay."

Don't sound so relieved, so chipper.

"I used to count how many times they blinked before they died."

Close your gaping mouth. You're the one who asked, woman. I would rather that you turn and walk away from me, if that's your urge. Most with good sense would. Instead you chose to stand here, with me. It's clear; there is no trust. So, don't fake it.

"Thanks for your smiling enthusiasm, Vegeta. Just what I needed. It's not like it's already scalding hot out here."

"Where is he, woman? I don't have time for this."

"So, you had time to count how many times a poor soul blinked before blasting them alive, but this is time sensitive. Training before all!"

It wasn't your rolling eyes or even your 'hail commander' tone that made my face sizzling red. It was that damn salute, slapping your heels together like some jack-ass henchman, and bringing your floppy hand to your brows. Your privilege detests common sense, woman. Pure restraint keeps me from stubbing your toes with the heel of my boot to drop you to your knees, so you can taste the dirt for once. Then you would understand, Earth princess of money. Oh, woman bow before your gravity room, born in your own genius. Then you would see what it was like for a prince to bow before a tyrant of the king's own making.

"Damn right it is. Only a few years until Cell shows up to wreck this planet's shit, your shit, the old man's shit, Kakarrot's shit and this little, halfway fried, pitiful excuse for a wild animal!"

I quickly gained my breath, but my throat burned from my strained vocal chords. I settled under the orange afternoon sun, letting the sweat dribble down the back of my neck. The Koi swirled in their perfectly round pond, blissfully unaware of the chaos that will tear down their little illusion-world in three years. The water chops against their bloated backs as they surface, too ignorant to know that no food will be coming from me—not my hand. Never.

Woman, it's useless to try to catch your own tears from your cheeks. Then, where will they go? Will they slip between your pale fingers, or soak into your unmarked skin? It's useless woman, best not to shed them at all. Don't waste them by flinging them from your fingers into the pond. The fish will just gobble them up, too stupid to know they're eating sorrow. They're too selfish to care that the salt of their bones is gleaned from your pain.

"Let your eyes dry."

You would snub your red nose at me and huff, "What?"

"It's a waste."

"Hoping you'd offer to help is a waste. Dad will be out soon. We'll get scratch down ourselves and—"

"The you _will_ fix the gravity room."

"Put your shit where your mouth is Vegeta and shut up! It's too hot for that. You can wait until tomorrow when it's not pushing 100 degrees out here."

"You leave _my _shit out of this!"

"So you can talk about our shit, but I can't call out your shit! Now, you have feelings to hurt?"

Now you look at me? Let alone stare dead into my face. I know you're not trying to see who will blink first.

"You best dry your face and keep to yourself, woman."

"You live here with me, prince, not the other way around. I paid for the bed you lay in at night. "

The sad leaky droplets streaking your face are now fat and heavy with anger, splattering the collar of your shirt. Now your eyes swell to twice their size, when you feel my palm against your face and my thumb pressing your cheek bone. My fingers don't wrap behind your ear for nothing. Lend me your hearing, for once woman. You wag your finger in my face all day long, yet I can't demand your attention? There should be no pain to distract you; I'm not hurting you, merely borrowing your attention.

"I have killed for less than this—less than you. You are no exception to this, Bulma, your house or not. Don't make that mistake. I could."

"Then why haven't you? Yes, you could, but that doesn't mean you would. Does it?"

"You have no—"

"Go ahead, Vegeta," you whisper to me, like you take some sick pleasure in the 'sweet nothing' of your own demise.

I can't stop my brows from squeezing my eyes. My own sweat and frustration stings my thought is there. My jaw aches from my grinding teeth. I'm going to…going to… going… going—it's gone. How long has it been since someone touched me and not brought the icy, biting teeth of suffering? This is so warm and so… unusual. My heart bounds in my chest, crying, "Get away! Get away!" I can't swat away your pressing fingers while you trace my arm from my elbow. Your fingertips ended their journey at my knuckles. I see why you would dare to squeeze my hand. Many have before. 'No! Please! Have Mercy!,' they would say. Not you. There is no begging. No pleading. No mercy from me. There's only your presence, my hand, and the peeking sun, beating on our backs. What abomination is this that I would not just allow it, but like it? This can't go on. I must end it.

You look even more puzzled that I tore my palm from your face, than touching you to begin with. What is it that you want from me? Don't reach for me. I will not give my arm back to you.

"Vegeta—"

"Leave me be."

"I'm—"

"I said leave me alone!"

"Have it your way."

Always getting in the last word. So, you can probe me all day long and prod my innards like a machine splayed open in your workshop, but I can't demand some solitude? You can turn your back to me and walk away, like this was some meaningless chatter, but I'm not allowed to shun your fingerprints from my damn skin?

"Wait woman!"

I understand turning at my request, but they're is no need to stare. You've seen me fly time and time again. In mere seconds, I reached the top of the glinting dome. The external power modules segment the chamber like a halved orange. Eight metal casings are welded to the sides of the chamber. Each are about the size of the flower boxes watered by the woman's busy-body-blonde of a mother. She always smells of bacon—always.

Finding the correct module was easy. I Just follow the atrocious noise that sounded like a yodeling namekian being mauled by a band of Frieza's warriors. The beast's moon-yellow eyes blinked at me from the side of the box. The mesh vent dangled from a rusty rivet. I blindly reached inside and the crying stopped when I grabbed a wad of fur and ears. I pulled him out, claws screeching against the inside of the metal housing.I didn't bother to rustle down his standing black fur, for the trip would be over soon. I touched back down to the ground and released the wiggling runt.

"Bulma dear, do you have the equipment hangar key? I can't find it," Dr. Breif's called from afar.

The cat dashed right past the woman's legs and darted to the gimpy, shoulder high scientist meandering from the main compound.

"There's my good fellow!," the old man said as the cat climbed his hunched back to sit on his shoulder, "I see that you climbed down on your own, well played," He reasoned as he finally crossed the yard.

"Actually dad, Vegeta grabbed him for us," the woman coughed with disbelief.

"Is that so? Well, a fine thank you is in order, son. My little yard panther would have gotten too hot in the casing. Goodness knows what would have happened to him."

I don't shake hands…usually. The old man is different. He doesn't stretch out his hand and wait for my permission. He just grabs me and shakes vigorously, until my wrist vibrates.

"I tell you, Vegeta, you should come join us for dinner this evening. Bunny is making steaks. You look like a well-done kind of man too me."

"What? Oh, no," I said and pulled my hand away, disgusted with the tacky moisture…and the idea of eating chewy, over-cooked cow hide. I wiped his sweat from my hand on the seam of my shorts.

"I insist. I actually wanted to borrow your knowledge," He said as he tilted his chin back and surveyed the patchy black clouds.

"No."

"Why, you'll have sterling company. This won't be a large gathering, just Bunny, myself, and Bulma."

"I have training to do. If you insist, the woman can leave a steak in my chamber— Medium-well."

"No, I'm not doing it. Sorry," the woman said, "If you want steak, you'll have to just come and get it."

"Fine, makes no difference to me."

"Well, son, speaking of training," the old man said grabbing my attention, "The topic of discussion could actually improve your training and prevent delays."

"My father has been good to you, Vegeta, the least you can do is humor his hospitality. You've proved me wrong before. Maybe you could do it again," she added softly.

"Timely training does sound more efficient."

"Absolutely, now I must ask you one thing," the scientist asked.

"Get on with it."

"Tell me, have you ever been struck by lightening?"


End file.
